Raining Dreams
by Amaya Rayne
Summary: We all dream of falling into Middle-earth, but what when Middle-earth falls on you? Expect the unexpected! Non-Mary-Sue.
1. Middle earth Dropped On Me

A/N: Hello and welcome. I will not scare you away now that I have gotten your attention, but I just beg you to give the first chapter a chance before making a judgment. Review if you would like me to continue.  
  
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Disclaimer: Faramir is the only thing in this chapter that does not belong to me. He belongs to Tolkien. However, in later chapters (if there are) there will be more things that are not mine.  
  
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Raining Dreams  
  
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Drops of glistening water seemed to sparkle as they slowly dropped to the earth, only to shatter as they impacted the ground. They seemed to suspend themselves for a few seconds before gravity got the best of them, forcing them to plummet. The world was in slow motion as I watch each individual tear-shape fall. I could hear nothing but the sound of each drop hitting my skin and the concrete below; could smell nothing but the earthly scent of the fresh morning and the heavy humidity. I was submersed in it, drowning in the incredible way my senses were affected by the weather. If I wasn't in heaven, I had no idea what was.  
  
A loud screech filled my ears and I snapped from my thoughts. A large truck had stopped on the street.  
  
"Camille!" a booming voice shouted, interrupting my musing and causing me to snap my head in its direction and remove my hand from out the window. "How did the United States incorporate deterrence into the five-prong defensive?"  
  
"Um..." I started, sorting my thoughts.  
  
"E pluribus Unum?"  
  
I ignored him, "It involved nuclear weapons. The United States manufactured nukes to say to the Soviets, 'if you attack us, we'll attack you right back.'"  
  
"At the climax of nuclear manufacture, how many times could we kill every organism on the planet?"  
  
"Twenty-seven."  
  
"How about now, O?" he turned to a girl across the room.  
  
"Six point eight."  
  
He moved onward, forgetting about me temporarily and my eyes drifted to the window. This was no heaven.  
  
"Does this country frighten you? Do your parents fear anything here? What about..."  
  
'Women of this country learned long ago, those without swords could still die upon them. I fear neither death nor pain.'  
  
'What do you fear, my lady?'  
  
"That this world will never return to how it was," I muttered a bit too loudly, attracting looks from those around me. I pictured grassy hills and fields, beautiful mountains, never ending forests of sky high trees, and clear lakes, smooth as glass with no pollution. Looking around the classroom at the students I saw green hair, Mohawks, multiple piercings, and clothes that were exposing too much skin, either many sizes too big or too small.  
  
I muttered, a bit more softly this time, "This world would be better off blown up."  
  
The day passed by slowly and I was forced to watch the rain fall from inside my prison-like facility. By the time I was able to escape the indoors, the weather had cleared. A frown quickly formed as I stood there, people chatting excitedly around me as they made their way to their cars. I inhaled deeply and savored what was left of the rain's scent before extracting myself from the crowd which was growing around the door. There was still hope, tomorrow may bring the same weather.  
  
The next day did hold promise. Waking from an uneasy sleep early in the morning, hours before the sun was due to rise, I looked out the window to find fog; a dense, heavy fog causing me to barely make out anything a story below. Knowing no sleep would find me, I threw the covers off and rolled out of bed, blindly side stepping the articles strewn over the floor.  
  
Opening the door, I was blinded by a light that had been left on. Squinting while my eyes adjusted, I was met with unfamiliar undergarments were hanging from the doorknob of the bathroom door across the hall and a black dress a few feet down. Jeans and a ripped t-shirt continued down the path.  
  
Carefully walking down the hall and avoiding the mess along the way I found the hallway blocked at the end. My father lay naked, spread-eagle with his hands wrapped around a blonde whose head was on his chest. I stepped on him, not bothering to find another way around. He groaned and mumbled some incoherent slurred words, but did not wake. Beer bottles were turned on their sides, their contents staining the old carpet.  
  
I felt nothing toward the scene. It happened at least once a week—my father would come home with a new woman, his prize from the bar. I didn't reject it. It was either that or him coming home drunk with a temper or using me to fulfill his need, which thankfully never happened. He has tried, but in his drunken state, his movements are too slow. On more than one occasion I have rendered him unconscious when he was getting on my nerves.  
  
I quickly forgot about my father and grabbed a breakfast bar, slipping into my shoes and a hooded sweatshirt before stepping outside, making sure to take my cell phone and key along. The air was slightly cool and rain was beginning to fall, smothering the fog. By the looks of the clouds, the sunrise wouldn't be seen and the rain would only fall harder as the hours went by, which brought a small smile to my face.  
  
My mind drifted as I walked. Fantasy thoughts filled my head; thoughts of trolls, elves, dwarves, wizards, love, and gorgeous men. A friend and I had involved ourselves in fan fiction after seeing Lord of the Rings over three years past. We dreamed of somehow finding ourselves in Middle-earth, falling in love, being swept off our feet, and living happily ever after. However, no matter how much we dreamed, wished, and spoke of it, we knew it would never come true which is why it is called fiction.  
  
The rain was so heavy I could barely see what was before me, but I knew I had reached the park. I walked across the field blindly to the west side where I could find an acre of thick trees. There, I figured, I could get a little shelter to think before heading back.  
  
A bolt of lightning struck a few feet in front of me with a sickening crack, knocking me to the ground and temporarily blinding me. Stars danced in my vision as I tried to regain my equilibrium. Another crack of lightning lit up the sky and I barely made out the silhouette of a man. I rubbed my eyes so I could make out the figure more clearly. The random lightning aided me slightly and I realized he was coming toward me. I scrambled backward, not bothering to take the time to stand up. I thought I heard him yell something, but thunder rolled across the clearing and swallowed his voice.  
  
The lightning caused and I could no longer see him. I stopped moving, all my senses alert. After a few moments of nothing, I relaxed slightly. A hand suddenly grabbed my ankle and I screamed, kicking the man with my free foot. I heard an 'oof' but his grip did not lessen.  
  
"Get off of me!" I growled, kicking again but this time my foot only met air. A gloved hand covered my mouth and I felt the hand on my ankle release and grab my wrists. I clamped and opened my mouth, trying to bite him, but my lips were in the way. No matter what I did, my attempts would not grant me success. I realized with gloves he would probably not feel my bite anyhow. He pulled me against him and I realized he was wearing some sort of metal protection. The rain panged against it as it fell.  
  
"Please, I mean you no harm," his hot breath grazed the skin of my ear. I struggled his grip. "Peace!" he said more urgently. "I am going to release you, but please do not run. I beg a word with you, but let us seek the shelter of the trees." He paused, "Do you comply?"  
  
I growled and struggled in his grip. His voice had been oddly soothing and had an odd accent I did not recognize. He was strong and I knew I would be no match for him if it came to strength, so I nodded, complying to his wishes.  
  
His hand released my mouth hesitantly and I jerked away from him, but found my wrists still bound in his grip. He let go and I scrambled to my feet. I turned to look at him, his features still not visible in the pouring rain and darkness.  
  
He held both hands up in friendship, "Peace." He took a step forward, picking up something from the ground then starting forward, but noticing me, staying rooted on the spot, he stopped. "Come," he reached for my arm.  
  
"Don't touch me," I spat, stepping away. I wondered what he'd do if I ran. Surely he could over take me if he wished.  
  
"I see you do not trust me," he yelled over the rain. "Please, do not run. I will not chase you if you do, but I would just like a word...out of the rain!"  
  
No matter what I chose to do, I would discover his honesty. But this man was making me curious and I, almost involuntarily, started walking to the trees. However, I did not stop when I entered, but walked to the very heart of the land.  
  
Finally, I stopped, but did not turn. I heard his steps also cease a yard or so behind me.  
  
"What do you want from me?" I asked quietly. Only the sound of heavy droplets of water could be heard from above our heads as I waited for him to answer me.  
  
"Information," he replied simply.  
  
I waited, but he said nothing else. "Well, ask already!" I said a bit too loudly. He appeared in front of me and I jumped in surprise.  
  
"Forgive me, but where I come from it is courtesy to look at one another when conversing.  
  
I studied him, his hair wet and curly, reaching his shoulders. What looked like metal armor covered his shoulders. I took a step back. "Where do you come from?"  
  
"Mina Tirith."  
  
I froze. "Gondor?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"The White City of Stone in Gondor?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Who do you think I am?" I asked, raising my voice.  
  
"I—" he started, confused.  
  
"You expect me to believe you're from Middle-earth? Who are you?"  
  
"Faramir, Captain of Gondor, youngest son of Denethor, Steward of the White City, brother of Boromir...I was somehow separated from my Calvary and I cannot explain why I am here. I wish you to tell me where I have found myself."  
  
"Captain Faramir?" I asked, unbelievingly.  
  
"Please, I need to return to my men...I am...wounded." By the way he said it, it was like he was in denial.  
  
"Wounded?" I asked, thinking he was making this up. "Look, sir, I think—" I stopped in mid-sentence when he fell to his knees.  
  
I thought for a moment then knelt in front of him, touching the wound he clutched on his shoulders. He hissed and my fingers drew away with blood.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Arrow...orc arrow."  
  
"Look, I don't know who you are—"  
  
"Fara—"  
  
"—but I'll help you, because by the looks of it, your not doing so well." He nodded. "Let's get you out of this stuff."  
  
Somehow, I helped him struggle out of his armor and I placed it under a tree, covering the pieces with leaves. He objected to the idea of leaving his possessions there.  
  
"Virtually no one comes around here and after we get you fixed, we'll come back for it." I put his uninjured arm, around my shoulder and slowly we started forward. I talked to him as we walked and the more time that passed, the more wanted to believe him.  
  
"His horn washed up on the bank, not a week past, cloven in two." His legs gave out on him, catching me off guard, and sent us both to the ground. "I am not the heir to the stewardship. Rumor is Isildur's heir has returned...not all is lost..."  
  
"Come on, Faramir. We can still make it. Your wound is not fatal unless by loss of blood. If we hurry, we can get you to a---uh...a healer."  
  
"Poison...orcs tip...arrows."  
  
I felt his forehead and he was burning with fever. 'Shit, why didn't I think of that?' "Hang in there, Faramir. Just stay awake. Don't go into the shadow. Faramir!" I shook him. No answer.  
  
Desperately, I felt for his pulse. A soft thump resounded under my fingers and I sighed in relief. It was there, but extremely faint. I laid him on his back and stared at his face, covered in the shadow of the night. What could I do—leave him here to get help? Never.  
  
Tears ran down my face, mixing with the rain. Why was this happening? This wasn't supposed to happen! I was supposed to go to Middle-earth, fight in amazing battles, and fall in love with a breathtakingly beautiful warrior. Why didn't anything happen the way it was supposed to? Instead, my wish comes true by me finding Faramir near death. Surely this could change the entire fate of Middle-earth.  
  
"Please, Faramir, don't leave me. Don't leave m in this cruel world alone...I'm sorry."  
  
Suddenly, I remembered my cell phone in my pocket. With shaking hands, I quickly got it out and turned it on. It seemed to take eternity to boot up. Then, after reading the screen, I angrily screamed and threw the phone with all my might. No service, my butt!  
  
I looked at the man beside me and gripped his hand. I wanted him to be Prince of Ithilien with all my heart. I didn't believe him, I wanted to believe him.  
  
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I don't know when or how I fell asleep, but I must have, for in a blink of my eyes it was noon and not a cloud was seen in the sky, which was odd for how much it rained just a few hours earlier. Was this a dream?  
  
I looked at the man. He was beautiful—long blonde-brown curls to his broad shoulders, a short beard and mustache...however, he was deathly pale. I checked his forehead for fever, but instead he was ice-cold. My fingers traced down his face to his neck. No pulse. Tears welled in my eyes. He was dead.  
  
I got up and looked at him. He was in his armor again, but I didn't really think about it. I just started dragging him a few yards away where a large hole was in the ground. It should have been odd that there was a hole eight feet long, four feet wide, six feet deep in the middle of the park, but I didn't really think about it—in fact I didn't really think about anything. It was like in those dreams where you don't know why you do things; you just know you're supposed to. I pushed him in. The problem was, his hand was gripping mine and I panicked, trying to get it loose, but he was falling and my efforts were unsuccessful. Momentum carried him down and me with him, headfirst into darkness.  
  
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I woke with a shudder and sat up. My head whirled, causing me to close my eyes again. It was all a dream—finding Faramir, his death everything—I thought with a sigh. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed about the fact. I just accepted it and opened my eyes to start another normal day.  
  
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A/N: Well, that about wraps it up! I may keep this a single chapter fic or post what I have also written depending on reviews...even though I like what I have written. Please review and let me know what you think. This will not be a Mary-Sue and from what I have brainstormed, a single-sided romance for the time being. Please review. 


	2. Tasks to be Fullfilled

A/N: Welcome back! I hope you enjoy the second installment. Please review and let me know what you think. A special thanks to Anja Summers, my new beta!  
  
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Stone. No, my bedroom wall was gone. In it's place, a stone wall.  
  
"What the..." I reached out and touched it, finding it solid beneath my fingers. I drew away and looked wildly around me. I sat on large pebbles, poorly-ground gravel. Around me men in metal armor lay sprawled with arrows protruding from them, horses too I looked to my other side and saw the same. Shocked, I stood, my head spinning from what I was seeing. Surely this was the dream.  
  
I froze when I heard something. Again, but what was it? A third time and I recognized it—a groan. I knelt down by the figure beside me and gasped. It was he, the man who introduced himself to me as Faramir! He was alive! I frowned at seeing the arrow which pierced his metal armor.  
  
I didn't think. All I knew was I couldn't let him die...again and if I was in Middle-earth like I thought I was, I couldn't sit here and do nothing.  
  
I looked around, trying to think of what I could do. Something moving caught my eye, and spurred an idea in my mind. I jogged over to where a horse was pacing, I assumed was his and was obviously startled by the attack. Carefully I walked around him so he could see me and carefully placed a hand on his head which startled him even more, sending him to his hind legs, neighing fiercely.  
  
"Shh! Shh!" I tried, racking my brain. "Oh, Ryder, what should I do?" I prayed to my horse-loving friend.  
  
Yelling was heard from behind me and I could only assume one thing: orcs. "Oh, crap."  
  
Looking around me wildly, I suddenly had an idea. I went over to a dead soldier and began removing his armor, putting it on my to the best of my abilities...which was not very good and involved much cussing. I felt like a grave robber and I silently apologized profusely. The armor was obviously designed for someone to put on the warrior, but having only myself, the armor unceremoniously hung off me at odd angles.  
  
'What am I doing?' I asked myself, 'Isn't it obvious that this didn't save them?'  
  
'We'll its better than nothing.' I chided as I tightened the final straps and placed the helmet over my head. The armor was much too large and I stumbled as I walked, clanging noisily.  
  
'They're going to hear you even more now!' I thought as I shifted my arm plates which were slowly sliding off my arms. The horse cooperated a little bit better with me, recognizing the armor. I led him over to Faramir who was fairing no better. The orc voices were getting nearer and my heart was racing. I was going to die not even fifteen minutes after falling into Middle-earth!  
  
'This isn't Middle-earth and you know it,' the voice in my head scolded. 'This is another one of those dying dreams your mind concocts.'  
  
I ignored the voice and concentrated at my task at hand. Dream or no dream, I would make the best effort to survive because this was like nothing I experienced.  
  
I heaved Faramir up by his armpits and staggered to keep upright. I don't know what I expected, but all thoughts of getting Faramir on the horse were dismissed from my mind. I used all my energy and hauled him once more, only succeeding getting a little more than his knees off the ground.  
  
My energy spent, I gently laid him back down, kneeling beside him. The orc voices were close now, and it would only be a matter of minutes until they found us.  
  
But something unexpected happened. The horse knelt down on the other side of Faramir, nudging him with his nose. I sprang to my feet and hauled Faramir up, swinging his leg over the horse. The horse then stood and tossed its mane from its eyes. I heard a yell from behind me and turned to find a group of five orcs, some holding swords and at least two holding bows. I put my foot in the stirrup and stepped up to mount the horse. Two arrows whizzed by, narrowly missing me, and spooking the horse into starting forward. I lost my balance and fell to the ground and Faramir began to slip. I managed to grab the stirrup and hoist myself up just as the horse started into a canter. Locking my arms around Faramir, I spurred the horse forward.  
  
It was more than difficult steering the horse to Minas Tirith since I couldn't even see over the man's head. It didn't help that I had never ridden a horse before and there were orcs madly chasing us. There were no longer just five of the enemy; the number was quickly reaching the hundreds and arrows were raining down around us. A few clanged against my armor, making only dents, but not piercing. However, the horse wasn't as fortunate. Two arrows streamed straight into his back flanks, causing him to slow significantly and yell in pain.  
  
"Keep going, boy. Come on, you can do it,' I whispered in his ear as best I could. He tried to go forward, but he couldn't make it. His legs buckled, but he remained standing. I looked back, we covered only half the distance and orcs were spilling out of the city after us. I looked down at the arrows and contemplated ripping them out. I had no idea whether allowing the wound to bleed or letting the arrows stay would be a better idea. The horse slowed and I took a chance. I grabbed the shaft of the arrow, closed my eyes, and pulled. The horse screamed in pain and shuttered under me. Warm liquid covered my hand and I felt my stomach flip. Quickly, I opened my eyes and pulled the other arrow out. The reaction wasn't to the extent and the horse was able to gallop slightly further. I was within a hundred yards of the gates when the horse gave out, his back legs buckling, sending Faramir and I to the ground. While untangling myself, I lost the metal armor from one of my arms, but I didn't bother with it.  
  
I caught my breath and risked a glance behind me, but the orcs were retreating. I threw off my helmet in disbelief. Why would they be running?  
  
Then, my movie-mind kicked in. The enemy only ran if something bigger was coming.  
  
"Like in Moria..." I whispered, my eyes growing wide. I froze, paralyzed with fear, afraid to turn around. 'I'm toast,' I thought as I slowly turned my head.  
  
The gates to Minas Tirith were wide and four guards, armed in familiar shiny silver, were running out. Archers and other guards stood on the wall above.  
  
I exhaled and closed my eyes, my adrenaline steaming through my pores. 'Thank God the bigger enemy is friends!' I thought to myself. Surely a friend of Faramir was a friend of Gondor, right?...Surely, I was a friend of Faramir...right?  
  
I was suddenly unsure of myself, of my entire plan. But what could I do? It was either be killed by orcs or men.  
  
The orcs actually sounded more appealing. At least I wouldn't feel as ridiculed and worthless by my own race.  
  
Strong arms hauled me up by my underarms. "I can walk!" I objected stepping away. "It's him. I think he's been poisoned." I motioned to Faramir.  
  
"Captain Faramir!" one of the men gasped. "Hurry! He is near death's door." Two of the guards hauled him up, grasping his ankles and wrists and began running to the gate.  
  
"Are you sure you can manage?" a guard asked me.  
  
"I am not injured."  
  
"But, sir, you have three arrows in your back!" the other, and seemingly younger guard, stated, motioning to my back.  
  
I turned, trying to see what they were talking about and I noticed a few orcs making their way over. "We'll worry about those later," I told them, motioning to the orcs and starting at a job toward the gate. I could hear the others follow behind me.  
  
-  
  
The gate closed with a bang behind us, my head spinning. How could it be that I had been shot, yet feel no pain? I sadly deduced that I must be in a dream.  
  
I moved away from the crowds in the square and struggled out of what was left of my armor. I must have looked like a fool to the Gondorians, only a few articles of protection left and those were hanging off me at awkward angles. Slipping the breastplate over my head, I turned it over and almost gasped at what I saw. Three arrows protruded from the metal, their tips ledged into the armor. The only reason I was unharmed by them was because the size of the armor. It was so big it did not touch me, but literally hung off me.  
  
Maybe I wasn't in a dream after all...  
  
No one really took notice of me while I stood there, wide eyed and in shock. That simple realization ran through my head and with it the proximity of year-old dreams. My eyes slowly raised from the 'arrow platter' I held in my hands. What I saw was amazing; pure white stone that was as smooth as marble extended far above me and seem(ed) to lead to the heavens themselves.  
  
"'Its seven walls of stone so strong and old that it seemed to have been not builded but carven by the giants out of the bones of the earth'..." I quoted, my voice but a whisper dissolved in the people bustling about.  
  
A loud voice cried out, and all fell silent. I had an eerie feeling everyone was looking at me. I slowly lowered my head, temporarily forgetting about my armor in my hands.  
  
"Where is he who accompanied Lord Faramir?" the voice repeated. "The Steward demands his presence!"  
  
I instantly decided I did not want to be discovered or meet with the Steward. Denethor seemed like a shady character to me—then again anyone who burns themselves alive is a little queer.  
  
"Sir," a guard stepped up to be, I recognized him and my heart sunk, "if you will join me..." He turned and began walking toward the second gate. I dropped the remaining armor on the rest and slowly followed behind. Another soldier fell into step behind me. No way to escape.  
  
I looked in wonder as we passed by shops and homes, all created from matching stone. It was unreal how such a magnificent place could be made.  
  
At the third level, the first guard addressed me. "You are no soldier of Gondor."  
  
I tripped on a stone in the road. "Excuse me?" I asked, wanting to make sure I heard him correctly.  
  
"You are no soldier of Gondor," he repeated. "How did you come to be clad in our mail and with our ranks?"  
  
"I...uh—I..." I stuttered. 'I really should have thought about this!' I mentally scolded myself. "It's a long story and I don't think you'd believe me if I told you...I don't really believe it myself."  
  
He stopped and looked at me. "You did not leave from here. You are a woman. Prepare your tale, for the Steward will be expecting it. Anyone who can be shot yet have no wounds must be fooling with witchcraft." He turned and started again with a renewed pace.  
  
I gulped. Maybe falling into Middle-earth wasn't such a great thing after all.  
  
-  
  
The view was amazing as we walked, winding around the city toward the citadel. Everything was white. I immediately thought of Tolkien's use of black and white; those who allied with Sauron and evil and their cities and garb chiefly black and dark colors, those who opposed the enemy were white, their colors light. Then, there were those that were indifferent or chose a side, but did not involve themselves in the battles. They were not known for a singly color, but all of the colors. I thought of the Shire; would it start to be overrun by Saruman—or had it already?  
  
There were also the Elves, very colorful people who were against Sauron, but kept to their own affairs, for their time is ending. Rohan also strikes me as a more brown country.  
  
Then it hit me. It was the white city versus the black and the 'colored' fell into place around, choosing sides. 'I've been in World Literature and Comprehension for too long,' I thought.  
  
The ground beneath me leveled out so we were no longer walking uphill. We were in the courtyard of stone. Ahead of us loomed the citadel, and I shuttered. Denethor's rule would not do me justice. He was quick to judge and based most of his knowledge on what he saw in the palantir. I hoped he would not see me as a spy from the dark side.  
  
We passed under the dead white tree and up the citadel stairs. There, the guards, clad in their silver-winged helmets and dark cloaks adorned with the white tree of Gondor, opened the doors. I looked at them closely, wondering if ether of them was Beregond. The thought of him suddenly put a plan in my head to get me out of this mess.  
  
The doors opened and a large hall was exposed. Large widows on the side walls sent rays of light into the marble room. Rows of tall black pillars extended high into the roof and stood out greatly against the rest of the white room. Between each of the pillars were statues of, what I could only guess were, former kings of Gondor. They extended down the isle to an empty throne, set upon many steps. Behind it, the tree of Gondor's branches, carved into the marble wall, spread wide to almost touch the seven stars around it. My eyes drifted to the seat below the chair, which Denethor sat, poised on the final step. The black chair caused my eyes to flicker at the site and return to my previous musings. Denethor was the evil of this magnificent hall. The power of the Ring also plagued men, creating the darkness of black pillars in their hearts.  
  
The guard's armor clanged loudly as they walked, the sound echoing in the silence. I noticed they had fallen into step beside me, allowing Denethor full view of me. He looked at me carefully and spoke, a white rod clutched in his hand.  
  
"The hour grows darker when spies enter city gates," he spoke to me. The guards turned and left me standing before him.  
  
I was reminded of Gandalf's meeting with him and how similar this conversation seemed to be heading. "Dark are the days when you treat friends as foes," I replied, trying to find a place to rest my arms without looking like a fool. I found myself wishing I had a sword to put a hand on.  
  
"Friends? Gondor's allies have long chosen to abandon us," he spat. I found the urge to yell at him to shut up then realized what was about to happen to him, so I kept my temper at bay—temporarily—and kept to my quickly conceived plan.  
  
"You speak of what you do not know."  
  
He paused, eying me closely. "Boldly spoken, but I have resources you cannot imagine."  
  
"Indeed, imagine them I will, but others have equally resourceful knowledge which could aid you," I said with a soft smile.  
  
"There is nothing that you could tell me that I do not know."  
  
"Your palantir will deceive you to your death. Your eldest son was killed by one of Saruman's Uruk-hai by the name of Lurtz, I believe, who shot him three times with a bow. Your youngest son returned to you telling you of his travels in Ithilien, and you sent him to his death along with hundreds of other good men, parting with him by telling him you would rather have him dead than Boromir." I paused, allowing the information sink in. "Do not judge before you see what is under their skin for you may be surprised."  
  
"What do you take me to be?" he asked. "I have seen all that will come to be of this city."  
  
"Then have you seen your death?"  
  
The question hung thick in the air of the citadel, and I could only hear the pounding of my pulse raking my body. I tried to compose myself and keep a look of calm composure, but I knew I had said too much. I took my knowledge too far. What if Middle-earth was different than it was in the books and movies? What if I was wrong?  
  
"Your imagination is great."  
  
I smiled slightly, "Thank you."  
  
"What do you want? Who are you?"  
  
The questions took me my surprise, but I answered them as convincingly as I could, and my answer was mostly true. "A messenger...bearing the advice for you to abandon what the seeing stone may show you. I see your mistakes already run deep, but I warn you—your son lives," I paused, wondering whether to tell him not to resort to fire. 'No,' I decided, 'if he lives through Pallenor Fields then there will be a big mess for the throne.'  
  
"Who sent you?"  
  
"I...uh—"  
  
"Who sent you?" he repeated, raising his voice and sitting up a little straighter in his seat.  
  
"Mithrandir," I blurted, suddenly.  
  
"Mithrandir? You fool, Mithrandir is here," he laughed.  
  
"He sent me to follow three days after he departed. It happens that I do not travel as swiftly as he. You were not to know of my relation with him. If you ask him, he will deny everything."  
  
"I have heard enough of these lies," he interrupted with a wave of his hand. I heard the quiet steps of the citadel guards nearing me from behind.  
  
"Your downfall is soon to come. I have foreseen it. Your days are limited! You will turn to fire!" The guards grabbed my arms and I struggled against them as they dragged me out of the hall. "The Rohirrim will not abandon you, although you will not live to see them arrive!" The heels of my Nikes' squeaked as I dug them into the floor. I thrashed once more as I heard the doors open behind me. I yelled a curse at Denethor before the doors snapped shut.  
  
The guards were determined to keep dragging me backwards—even down the steps. I lost my legs after descending the first, and I desperately tried to regain my balance and keep up with the guards' pace.  
  
"Ah! Alright, I can walk!" I objected. I didn't expect them to drop me right there. The sudden loss of support sent me crashing backwards down the steps, sliding on my spine down the hard marble and cracking my head on the edge of a stair. My momentum sent my legs flying over my head, and I landed sprawled at the base of the steps, my face buried in the ground. I moaned in pain, unable to move. I was sure I had scraped all the skin off my back and was going to have a nasty bump on the back of my head if I didn't split it open. I should have kept the armor on.  
  
A pair of feet appeared before my clearing vision and I felt someone grab me, pulling me to my feet. I swayed for a moment before gaining my equilibrium. I shook my head to try to clear things up a bit.  
  
"Alright...lead the way."  
  
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A/N: So that's a wrap on chapter two! Thank you to Anja and Arien-Kaleniel who left reviews!  
  
Arien-Kaleniel: Here's the update. Hope you enjoyed it. 


	3. Beast of a Headache

A/N: Chapter Three! Yay! But this chapter couldn't be what it is without my ingenious beta: Anja! Thank you, thank you, thank you! (I know I've thanked you already, but I just can't enough! The next chapter is going to be great as well!) Thanks to her for the chapter title! Anyway...we'll concentrate on this one for now. Hope you enjoy!  
  
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Chapter Three: Beast of a Headache  
  
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The dungeons were cold and dark, only candle light providing an eerie glow and created long shadows. Steel bars boxed me against the exterior wall of the room. The corridor reaked of an unknown scent, most likely something decomposing in the airless room. It was evident that the prisons had not been used for some time. The guards had needed to replenish the candlesticks which had deteriorated to nothing but ash and hard wax. A thick layer of dirt and dust covered everything in sight.  
  
The footsteps of the guards retreated and I was left alone. I gripped the bars and let my head slide forward to rest on the cold metal. What a mess I had got myself into! I closed my eyes and hit my head against the gate a few times. I should have shut up sooner. My plan, of course, had failed. It would have been carried out perfectly in one of my stories, but nothing ever worked like they did in the fiction world.  
  
'I am in the fiction world.'  
  
I sighed. I had truly lost it. After three years I had finally lost my sanity. I believed I was in Middle-earth, for heaven's sake! No wonder I was in jail; it's the closest thing they have to a mental institute.  
  
I turned and surveyed my temporary quarters. They had been kind enough to provide me with a blanket. I could only guess they were silently telling me it would get cold in here at night. I always found it interesting that the guards weren't able to speak or show their faces on duty. I realized it was for the safety of the city, but even the guards at the Tomb of the Unknown in D.C. could speak.  
  
'That's why the United States has been bombed and terrorized where Minas Tirith's walls have never been breached...until now.'  
  
I plopped myself down against the wall with a huff. I silently wondered how long they would leave me in there. Figuring the battle on our doorstep, it was going to be quite a long time. I prepared myself for a long stay.  
  
.  
  
Deep rumbling woke me from the sleep I didn't know I fell into. The wall shook violently for a few seconds, then stopped. I slid away and crossed to the other side of my cage. I wished there was a window of some kind so I could see what was going on.  
  
I looked to the candles which still stood tall. I had been out for a few hours it seemed by the looks of them. I just hoped the guards had the heart to change them when they melted completely.  
  
Another tremble racked the building. 'It must be during the early stages of the battle when they are catapulting boulders at each other,' I thought.  
  
The 'quakes' occurred frequently and after awhile I sopped jumping every time one struck and I became quiet bored. How was it I could sit here while everyone is being blown to pieces? I felt like Jack Sparrow when he was caged in the Black Pearl while it was engaged in combat. I sighed in frustration. I was supposed to be fighting!  
  
A loud, unbearably high pitch scream came from directly above me and I instinctively ducked my head and covered my ears. It was like nothing I'd heard. The reenactment in the movie was nothing compared to it. The sound was worse than fingernails dragged down a chalkboard. I felt like my head was going to explode from invisible pressure.  
  
The sound passed, but I stayed in my position, recovering from my trauma and preparing for another Nazgul and fell beast to fly over and put me through the same torment. And they did; swooping low and torturing their enemy...and me.  
  
A loud crash and a rumbling greater than any other shattered me from my insanity and jolted me back to reality. I managed to lift my head enough to see a boulder crash through the ceiling, sending most of the slab above me to cave in. I ducked quickly and covered my head until the debris stopped falling. Looking up, I saw a fell beast fly silently overhead—away to find new prey.  
  
For some reason it occurred to me that Denethor was most likely burning Faramir right now. I silently prayed he would still be saved and brushed some dust from me I had to get out of here.  
  
This seemed nearly impossible now. My cage remained: the outermost wall still standing and the gates still mostly unharmed besides a few bars at the top—bent, from the ceiling crashing down. The roof, however, was a different story completely. The boulder had crashed diagonally into the room, leaving a gaping hole, but the impact at the loss of support caused a larger chunk of the structure to crumble.  
  
Looking around the room, it seemed I would be trapped there forever. Large stones the size of car wheels and televisions were piled between the door and me. No one would take the effort to find me.  
  
So I did the only thing I could think of doing: I climbed the door of my cell which had the only horizontal bars I could climb. If anything, I thought, I could jump down to the other side.  
  
As I climbed, I noticed the silver gleam of armor mixed with the rubble. Posts must have been located above me. I felt sorrowful for the loss, but felt unsure now cope. I was relieved at least not to see the body or any parts.  
  
As I climbed, more of the battle reached my ears. I could hear the shouting of men, the clanging of swords, clamoring of armor, and twanging bows. Within seconds I was standing, balanced on one of the top bars. Behind me, I could see the outermost wall of the level some fifty feet away and a few stories down. There was nothing near to jump to but the outer wall of the prison. If I were to jump, I might be able to make it over the wall of the prison five yards behind me but it was a dangerous fall from there. I decided I could climb down or walk along the wall to find a safe route down.  
  
I took a deep breath. If I wanted to get out, it was the only option. I turned around so the heals of my shoes were all that was holding me on the bar. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer. The probability of me making the jump...I shook off the thought, not wanting to even think about math. I opened my eyes and jumped before I could change my mind.  
  
Not a split second later, while floating between walls, I realized how stupid the decision was. I wasn't going to make, nor come close. I smacked into the wall, my stomach connecting with the top of the wall. The wind was instantly knocked out of me and I started to slip down the wall, but I instinctively gripped the wall. My abdomen hurt more than the worst stomach ache, but knowing I wouldn't be able to hold myself there much longer, I attempted to pull myself up.  
  
After several unsuccessful attempt, I resorted to swinging my legs over. I somehow managed to get one over and sat, straddling the wall. I scolded myself for thinking I could make the jump and now a bruise the size of Texas on my stomach showed my stupidity. I knew I would be very uncomfortable for the next few days.  
  
I took that chance to look at myself. My khaki's which I had worn to bed the night I met Faramir were covered in dirt and holes were forming at the knees. My new hoodie was ruined. I had scraped the logo off the front from my jump. The cuffs were ripped and I was sure the back was suffering from my fall down the stairs. I could feel the tie holding my hair back sliding out and wisps of hair were in my face. But hey, why worry? I was in the middle of a medieval war. I probably looked fairly good considering the consequences.  
  
I laughed slightly at the though. Yeah right.  
  
I was shaken to reality as a Nazgul flew down from above. My eyes met those of the fell beast and I froze, knowing he was heading toward me. I quickly clamored to get my leg so I could slide down. I looked to my right and then to my left, furiously looking for some escape. The wall stretched on forever and no matter how fast I could run on it—which wouldn't be fast at all least I fall off the side—the Nazgul would catch me.  
  
I had just managed to get halfway standing when the fell beast screamed. The familiar sound sent my head spinning and I clutched my ears. I had no choice and with the scream pounding my senses, I knew the only option was down. I slipped from my perch and fell right when the Black Rider swept over, clawing at me. The scream silenced and he swept off to find another to prey on.  
  
But I was not aware. All I knew was I was falling...  
  
Falling...  
  
Falling...  
  
I must have closed my eyes when the fell beast screamed because as I was thinking of squeezing my eyes shut, I realized they already were.  
  
Bam! My feet hit the ground and I crumpled forward, landing on my hands and my face hitting the cement. I groaned, pain now shooting up my legs, adding to the pain of my stomach, head, and hands. My face felt hot and I could feel warm liquid seeping from my hands. A few more hours of this and I was going to be dead.  
  
I don't know how long I laid there, but it was long enough that I decided the throbbing would never go away. How was it that I got stuck here and not somewhere lick Mirkwood where Legolas would sweep me off my feet and have me fall in love with him?  
  
"Why can't I be a Mary-Sue?" I groaned aloud, rolling over onto my back and opening my eyes.  
  
The wall, that dreadful wall. I wished I could break it—give it as much pain as it had bestowed upon me. My eyes followed it up and my breathing hitched as they landed on the top of the wall. I had fallen at least three stories. The wall had not only been higher than I expected, but it was the outermost wall of the level meaning I was on the battlefield.  
  
I sat up and threw a rock at the wall, hoping it would crumble. My head began to clear and the sounds of battle reached me. I groaned, knowing the men and orcs would return in a matter of minutes after being frightened away by the Nazgul. Struggling to my feet, I avoided using the cursed wall for support even though it would have been very helpful. I hissed in pain as I got on my feet. Both me legs were in great pain. I guessed my left ankle was twisted and my left leg was broken somewhere.  
  
I hobbled over and picked up an abandoned sword to use as a lame support. I was most likely going to end up breaking the tip, but I really didn't care.  
  
I stopped and stood there. Now what? It wasn't like I could fight in the shape I was in. I massaged the bridge of my nose with my free hand, trying to clear the intensive pain I was in so I could think. Why was I here?  
  
No idea.  
  
Faramir! Of course. If he hadn't practically fallen on top of me I would be enjoying a Saturday—pain free!  
  
I sighed, knowing the only thing for me to do was go to the citadel and make sure Denethor wasn't burning his son alive. Plus, I wanted to be there when Gandalf knocked him around a bit with that staff of his. I smiled. That would be the highlight of my day.  
  
I started up the slop slowly using my left loot and the sword for support. My jaw started to cramp from me clenching it against the pain, adding to my headache. I skirted along the outside of battles, trying to avoid being seen by anyone. I was lucky to be high enough in Minas Tirith that orcs were scarce, only those who had managed to climb walls, like the one I fell from, present. The problem was the gates were kept locked and only the soldiers were allowed through. I managed to find a discarded helmet and sneak in with a group of soldiers, but the higher I went the fewer soldiers were posted. By the last gate, no soldiers were seen...anywhere...and my ankle was burning in unbelievable pain.  
  
I was limping at the speed of a sloth, looking for a path which could somehow get me up to the citadel when a shadow covered me. Even though it was past dusk I knew what it was. I was in a horrible mood from having to go through so much work just to get up two levels. I had cast the helmet aside a few minutes ago with the fading light and the lack of need of the piece of metal.  
  
The Nazgul landed in front of me, opening its wings and screaming at me. I didn't flinch. I had such a bad headache that its maturing-boy-cracking voice didn't both me anymore.  
  
"Bug off, can't you see I'm having a hard enough time as it is?" I yelled, as if I was talking to my father. I opened my arms to show him I was defenseless when I remembered it was a sword I was crouching on  
  
"Feast on its flesh," the Nazgul said in a creepy hiss that sent a shutter down my spine.  
  
"It? Who you calling it? And don't even think about calling me a man!" I glared at him. "You know, you picked the wrong day to mess with me. I am tired, sore, in a great deal of pain, and have a headache the size of this continent. I've put up with you all day—all your screaming and whining—and I've had it up to here with you!" I emphasized, shaking my hand furiously about my chin. "Now you say, 'feast on my flesh?'"  
  
I was starting to get a feel of what my mother had gone through the few years she had lived with us. Thinking about it, I realized I sounded just like her on the days when she lost it with my father.  
  
I snapped back to my task at hand when the fell beast took a step toward me, opening its mouth to expose its jaws. I cringed at it's foul breath.  
  
"Perhaps you've met Eowyn, the woman who killed your king? Well, guess what? I am no man either!"  
  
The fell beast lunged and tried to bite off my head, but I took the advantage to shove my sword into its mouth. It froze and gargled. I withdrew it and watched the creature collapse, moaning in misery.  
  
My eyes were taken from the dying creature when its rider appeared before me, a blade shining in his hand. He was harder to make out than his stead was against the darkening sky. The occasional torched bale of hay thrown toward the city helped light up our battle scene and the glowing moon created an eerie glow on the white stone around us.  
  
"I told you to leave me alone!" I yelled, my temper growing.  
  
The Nazgul continued to slowly step toward me. He brought his sword up and arched it toward me. I barely managed to lean back out of its path. When he brought it toward me a second time, I was forced to block with my sword. The weapon was heavy and foreign in my hands and I was forced to rely on my strength and what I had seen in movies which proved to not be nearly enough. On the third arc, the sword sliced through my sweatshirt, creating a long gash across my chest, but missing my flesh. However, I had leaned back too far to avoid the blade and I fell onto my back. I scrambled to get away and back on my feet, knowing I couldn't touch my enemy. He stood, towering over me and placed his sword tip to my throat. I gulped. I was in major trouble now.  
  
'This is the end...I'm going to die...oh god!'  
  
"Die!" he hissed as he drew his sword back a few inches to strike. Somehow I straightened my mind and was able to lift my right arm and with all my might, strike his sword to the side. This action startled him and the sword was knocked from his grip. I pointed my sword at him, but wasted no time.  
  
"You're worse than my father," I spat, rolling my eyes and thrusting the sword through his heart. It was his turn to scream and I instantly dropped the sword when dry ice seemed to travel up it and shoot into my arm. He glowed for a minute, a light which seemed to not come from the moon or the fireballs, but from inside him. But as soon as it appeared, it as gone and his garb went lax and fell to the ground, turning to ash and scattering in the wind.  
  
"Middle-earth needs to learn how to treat a woman," I said before my vision started to fade and I blacked out after silently apologizing to Faramir.  
  
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A loud horn woke me in the early hours in the morning. I opened them only to squint and turn away from the bright light. I held my hand up to shade my eyes from the bright dawn and immediately noticed the fell beast. Dark, black blood pooled from its mouth, staining the white stone.  
  
I attempted to move, but found I couldn't. Every single muscle I moved screamed in pain at being disturbed, save my left arm. I found myself wishing I was ambidextrous.  
  
Shouting from far below me startled me and I fought harder to stand, curiosity eating at me. There must have been hundreds of voices yelling. The horn that awoke me blew again and others followed, holding long, beautiful notes that seemed to call me.  
  
Giving up on standing, I crawled using my two left limbs to move me along and finally reached the wall, pulling myself up as a sound like thunder shook the entire city and the shouting joined it.  
  
"What in Middle-earth is going on?" I mumbled as I groped at the wall, pulling myself up.  
  
My jaw fell to the floor. Thousands of horsemen were charging across the plain, spears thrust toward the gigantic orc army. It reminded me of a typhoon, sweeping across the ocean, heading to cover an island.  
  
"Death!" they screamed as they galloped faster toward the enemy. Even from the height I was at, I knew the orcs were scared and their line was pushing back into itself.  
  
Arrows from the orcs flew across the field, bringing a few Rohirrim down, but making no significant damage to the army.  
  
They impacted each other, head to head, and the horsemen slowed, but didn't stop, riding over the orcs, killing all in their path. I sat, carefully on the wall, knowing I was going to want to watch the next event that would take place on the field. I suddenly remembered that Eowyn would slay the Witch-king soon. My face paled. I hoped that I hadn't killed him already.  
  
'Don't kid yourself," I thought to myself. 'The Witch-king would have been far more difficult to beat than that. Plus, he had a mace in the book. That Nazgul only had a sword.'  
  
It hadn't really dawned on me that I had killed a Black Rider. It just didn't seem possible. The 'immortal' kings-of-old killed countless numbers of good men and one had stood in my and I had treated it like my father—but taken extra extensive defensive action of course. I actually still really didn't believe I was in Middle-earth. I just had been so busy running from someone—or something—or trying to get somewhere that it really didn't seem true. I did know one thing for sure—this was too painful to be a dream.  
  
I sat there, internally debating whether I wished I could be down on Palennor Fields fighting. The Rohirrim were clearly wiping the orc population out and it was beginning to look as though nothing could stop them when the wraiths turned and headed to the field. I watched as they ripped them from their horses, but sadly discovered the field was too far below for me to witness Eowyn's final battle.  
  
I looked out into the distance and could see the Mumak approaching. The ships, which would now be empty or perhaps carrying Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli, were also making their way down the river, and bringing with them the Army of the Dead. I wondered how the ghosts would look in real life and how they would fight. Would they be a plague like they had in the movie? Or perhaps like the Rohirrim: undefeatable?  
  
Continuing to watch the battles below, I had become almost in a dazed-like state. Suddenly, two arms seized me from behind and I screamed in pain of the delicate wound on my stomach and arm. I was dragged off the wall and a heavy object dropped on my head.  
  
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A/N: Wow, that was an exciting chapter to write and to read! Please review and let me know what you think. Thanks to:  
  
ANJA! Stardust-creations: Thanks! Arien_Kaleniel: Yes, but twice is always better than not at all! Let me know what confused you and I'll try to clear some things up for you. I hope you didn't have to wait too long for this update. They shouldn't be this far apart, I was on spring break. Chapter four is already in the making! Sweet A.K: I like Faramir, too, and no one ever seems to write about him so I had to! I'm glad you liked that part because I wasn't sure how that turned out. You'll have to wait and see about the romance :) That's a secret for now! Haha! 


	4. Challenging Memories

Chapter Three: Challenging Memories

An indescribably fresh scent entered my nostrils and I inhaled deeply, enjoying it. I sunk further into the feather mattress and I could feel the warm sun on my face—wait…

My eyes flew open and met a stained oak, cabin-like ceiling. I sat up quickly, despite my aching stomach, back, and my horrible headache. I looked around me furiously, fighting the darkness which was consuming most of my vision. I gripped the sheets to sheady myself at the feeling I was falling. Two hands gripped my shoulders and I tried to coax my to lay back down on the bed. I couldn't do it. Confusion ripples through my head and spread through my muscles. Somehow, and I'll never manage to figure out how, but I wrenched away from the hands and stumbled out of bed only to find my legs were bandaged thoroughly and I couldn't bend my right leg or left ankle to stabilize myself. I must have been a sight to see—stick-leggedly trying to walk backwards fast enough to catch my upper body while my arms were waving rapidly in search of something to grab. My attempts were to no avail and I started crashing backward, only to have someone catch me.

The room stopped spinning and I blinked a few times to clear my eyes. An old man sat on the bed and a woman stood at its foot. The man who caught me picked me up, cradling me in his arms. Instinctively, I thrashed about.

"Get—Let go of me!" I almost screamed. His arms tightened in order to prevent my escape. Having had enough, I found my left arm and drew back and it connected with his face. The punch could have probably broken his nose if it had been my right arm and I wasn't half starved.

"There will be none of that!" the old man yelled, suddenly on his feet, standing over me as I was put down. I was about to get up when I realized the old man had a shining white beard and hair. My eyes traveled down his white garb and staff. 'Mithrandir,' I thought to myself. He studied me closely and I looked away, not recognizing the woman who was straightening the sheet which had been draped over my legs. I looked at the man who had his hand over his face, massaging his nose and preventing me from seeing his face.

"Aragorn, are you alright?" Gandalf asked him.

I gasped as the man removed his hand from his face and smiled slightly. It was then I realized how tall he was—nearly a foot over Viggo. His dress and appearance was much the same as I had remembered from the movie and the book, but his face appeared both youthful and wise. It was hard to say looking at him how old he was, but I could definitely say that he was Aragorn, even without Gandalf addressing him.

'Crap, I just punched the next king," I thought to myself, scolding for acting before thinking.

Gandalf interrupted my thought by sitting on the bed and glancing at the woman to leave. I scooted a little further over on the bed, gaining some space between us. He appeared to notice, but said nothing.

"We will not harm you. You do not need to be afraid—"

"Who are you and where am I?" I demanded.

The old man appeared unpleased at my outburst, but looked to Aragorn who stood a few feet beyond the foot of the bed with his arms crossed over his chest.

"If introductions are necessary…" He gestured to Aragorn. "This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and I am—"

"Mithrandir?" I chocked.

A soft smile covered his face. "I see you recognize me."

I paused. "Not really," I croaked. "What other man would be shining white and…in Minas Tirith with the future king?" He studied me further and traded a look with Aragorn. I became very interesting in the hem of the sheet and began pulling on it in attempt to rip the cloth, the pain in my legs and right arm becoming quite a nuisance. However, my strength seemed to have been drained from my previous injures and I was unable to harm the sheet.

I suddenly thought about what I was doing, about where I was and tried to push the pain to the back of my mind and come to the matter at hand. "This is some kind of joke, right? I mean, this isn't really…" I cut myself off, thought, I wasn't sure why I didn't finish my sentence. I wanted them to admit it was the show 'Scare Tactics' or something so I could be over and through with this pain. At the same time I wanted this to be Middle-earth and not the cruel, unloving world I lived in.

"Yes, and you are in the Houses of Healing," Aragorn answered.

"Houses of—how did I … I was…" I tried to think. Where had I been?

"A guard apparently caught you on the sixth level. He brought you to Denethor who was…busy at the moment and I instructed you be taken here because of your injuries."

I grunted, "That's an understatement."

"How did you receive such torment? Certainly not one event caused the variety of mars on your body," Aragorn asked, the healer in him appearing.

I was tempted to hold up my hand and count off the various accidents I had found myself in, but I humbly stated instead, "Accidents, pure accidents that should have never happened."

Both occupants in the room seemed unsatisfied with my answer.

"Were you responsible for the dead fell beast below the citadel?" Gandalf asked.

"Uh…" I swallowed. "Yes?"

The man and wizard traded looks again, but said nothing. "Where do you come from, lady? When you cam here you were clothed in strange garb."

I opened my mouth and shut it. Truth or fiction? Half-truth? "Um…I…" I started. I scolded myself for not being prepared for the question. "I come from…" my voice faded and I closed my eyes tightly, trying to think of a realm that wouldn't get me in trouble.

"Do you remember your name?"

The voice interrupted my thoughts and I opened my eyes. Another question I had no idea how to answer. "Jo—no…A—no!…Ry—" I shut my mouth, knowing I probably looked like a fool, not knowing my name or where I came from.

"What is the furthest thing you remember?" Aragorn asked, stepping toward the bed.

"Faramir. I was in Osgilith. The orcs were coming. I somehow recognized Faramir and knew we had to ride to safety…to Mina Tirith."

"Have you ever been in Gondor?"

"Not before today—or yesterday or whatever. Why all the questions? What's going on? Are you going to put me in prison again?"

Gandalf chuckled at my sudden paranoia and anxiety. "No. You will be cared for here. Though I must ask you this: how did you know me? of the Steward?"

"I…I…I don't know…I've heard of you…and him."

Gandalf nodded and sat looking at me before standing and going to the small window across the room. Aragorn followed.

"Memory loss," he murmured and Gandalf nodded in agreement. "But I've never heard of such a thing: remembering the recent, but not the past. And knowing of you and Denethor! Killing a fell beast! Who knows what she does and does not understand!"

"Patience. Time and healing may answer your question," the wizard answered before turning and exiting the room.

Memory loss? I was at loss for words. When they walked to the window I was sure they were going to say how likely it was I was hiding something. My unprepardness had actually aided me somehow.

I realized Aragorn was still in the room and watch him turn and meet my eyes.

"Are you in pain?"

"No," I lied, wondering what he would do if I said yes. It wasn't like he could pop me an aspirin.

"You are lucky you did not injure yourself further by getting out of bed so soon."

'Lucky?' I thought, thinking his word choice was ironic. I did not see myself as lucky at all.

"Is the war over?" I asked, fairly sure it was since he was here.

"The battle is, but Mordor has more in store for us. We will ride once more to battle in a few days' time." He took a few steps toward the door. "I will have food brought to you. Pleasure meeting you, my lady."

"And….I you."

He exited the room and I heard an excited voice outside the closed door.

"Gandalf said she was awake."

"Yes, she is."

May I see her?"

There was a pause and I strained to hear. Who would want to see me?

I was startled when the door opened and a small man peeked his head in. "Hello, miss. May I enter?"

"Uh…sure."

He came in, shutting the door. He was clad in war clothes: mail and a black vest with the tree on Gondor embroidered with silver. A sword hung from the belt on his hip.

He stood there for a minute, staring at me. "I wanted to see how you were. You weren't in good shape when the guard brought you up. Denethor was furious at seeing you again and told Gandalf you would betray us."

I raised my eyebrows, interested in his tail.

"Gandalf didn't know you, but he became very interested and sent me off to help you and Captain Faramir as the Steward…" he trailed off.

"Died?" I asked, trying to help him.

"Yes." He bowed his head in sadness, but I could tell he wasn't sure what to think of what happened to him.

"Is Faramir alright?"

He looked back up at me. "He is alive. He is just down the hall, healing from the arrow wounds he suffered."

I nodded, relieved.

"I'm Peregrin Took, but you can call me Pippin," he stated confirming my thoughts.

"Hi, nice to meet you."

He looked at me for a moment, waiting for me to introduce myself, but when I didn't answer he seemed not to mind. He pulled up a chair from beside the door and sat beside the bed.

"The men say you brought Faramir from Osgilith after the battle."

I smiled slightly at his excitement. "Yes, that is true."

"Were you in the battle? I do not remember meeting any women in the army. How were you uninjured when you arrived? How did you escape the orcs?"

"Well, I am sorry to say that I cannot answer all of your questions," I said, trying to stick with the memory loss story, "because I don't really remember myself. The first thing I remember is waking up in the Stone City by Faramir and somehow knowing who he was." I proceeded to summarize the chain of events that followed my arriving at Minas Tirith. When his questioning continued, I told him the rest of what had happened.

"…and as I was sitting there, something hit my head and the next thing I knew I was here," I concluded.

Pippin opened his mouth to say or ask something when someone knocked on the door. The woman appeared with a tray of food.

"Master Took, Mister Brandybuck wishes to see you," she said, placing the tray on the table beside me and quickly leaving.

Pippin stood. "It was a pleasure, my lady, but I am afraid I have to go, but I hope we will meet again."

I nodded and he quickly excited, leaving me alone.

The days passed in loneliness and thought. Gandalf returned daily to quiz my memory. Aragorn, I rarely saw, but he stopped in a few times to see if my wounds were healing well, and they were; slower than he had ever seen, but healing. I wished they had air casts and crutches so I wouldn't be bed ridden. It was just my luck, and I think they were relieved so they wouldn't have to worry about me. I was a prisoner to the bed.

I contemplated during that time about how I would get back. Did I even want to go back home? There wasn't much there that wouldn't suffice here. Sure, I would suffer without my music and especially since the place had no toilets or running water. I found it amusing and fun, but how long would it take to get old?

Finally, I got fed up with my room and bandaged my leg to a plank of wood—to stabilize it—and borrowed an old walking stick they had laying around. Gandalf and Aragorn left with the army to Mordor, or so I thought because Gandalf no longer stopped by and I thought I heard the men gathering and leaving through the front gate.

I stood and stretched my unused and cramped muscles. Most of my problems were my arm and broken leg, although the twisted ankle was a nuisance. I stood outside in the garden and overlooked the plains. It really was an amazing country and I couldn't imagine living there. The sun was setting, causing the sky to mix into pinks, oranges, and purples. I took pleasure on having nothing to stress over and breathed in the fresh (non-polluted) air that none could rival.

Footsteps came toward me from the path to the house. I tried to ignore them, thinking it was going to be Gandalf mysteriously appearing and scolding me or the kind lady ushering me in to eat.

"Miss?" the masculine voice startled me and I whirled around, recognizing it.

I stared at him, not knowing how to react. I raised my eyebrows slightly and tried to mask an innocent look. Yes, my lord?"

"You…you are from that dream…" he said slowly nearing me. "They told me a stranger here, but I didn't think…"

"It wasn't a dream."

"Then what?"

I took a deep breath, "I don't know. I went for a walk, you came, I woke up and you were dead, so I buried you…and fell in." I trailed off, studying the grass. "Then I was here."

He studied my face. "Who are you, my lady? What do you hide?"

"I do not know anymore. I remember my past life, contrary to what others believe, but I don't know who I am now." I turned away and took another deep breath. "I don't know why I'm here."

He stepped next to me and I didn't answer for the longest time and I believed he wasn't going to say anything, until he did, just loud enough for me to hear. "I wouldn't have come to you if I didn't need you. You must play a role here."

I turned and stared at him, wide-eyed. "_You_ came to _me_. You _chose_ to?!" I said a bit louder than I should have.

"No, no." He shook his head. "I had no part in it, but it may have been out of desperation, subconsciously, to avoid death."

"Your saying your subconscious took you to me so I could save you?"

"Possibly."

"Then why did you drag me with you?"

"I was told you brought me to safety, so the attempt was successful. "He turned to look at me and a small smile spread across his lips.

The thoughts of fanfiction flooded my mind. I pictured Faramir sweeping me off my feet and kissing me. "My breath-takingly beautiful warrior," I muttered with a sigh, stealing a glance at him.

"Excuse me?"

I immediately snapped out of my daydreaming. "What?"

"You said something."

'I said that out loud!' I panicked.

"Oh, I was just thinking how what you said made sense, but then why am I still here?"

"We may have to wait and see." His smile reappeared.

I smiled weakly, my stomach dropping in what almost seemed like dread.

* * *

A/N: Thank you and I hope you enjoyed. Thanks to everyone who reviewed!

Stardust-creations: Now you know. I'm glad you are enjoying this and thank you.

Dimonah Tralon: Thank you. I am glad you enjoy it.

xAKGIRLx: Thank you for your enthusiasm. I hope you liked this chapter as much, although it sadly didn't have as much action.

Sweet A.K: Thank you. I like the main character too. I wanted a woman who would be somewhat courageous in facing her trials, but also very normal. Yes, I know there aren't many good Faramir fics, which is one of the reasons I wanted to write one. I am sorry that it took longer than usual to post this, but I hope it was worth the wait.

ArienKaleniel: Here's Faramir. He had been injured and taken to his father and while the main character was facing all her problems, he was being burned by his father. Well, he's well now, so you don't have to worry!


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